


Things That Are Deadly

by Hunter Stu (stunudo)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Decapitation, F/M, Sex Trafficking, Vampires, frisky in the impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 16:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stunudo/pseuds/Hunter%20Stu
Summary: This was a one word drabble prompt that took on a life of its own. The word given to me was "Billie" by Incog_Ninja aka Thoughtslikeaminefield.Hang on folks!





	Things That Are Deadly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Incog_Ninja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/gifts).

They had been doing this game for months. He’d roll into town, sometimes alone, sometimes with a partner and find her in a night or two. He didn’t waste anytime calling her bluff, whether flashing that fake badge he always had on him or playing the drunk ex. He knew just how to push a girl to extremes, hungry and on edge.

But then he’d leave, with a knowing smirk and a dead eyed glare, he’d slip into his black and chrome chariot and disappear, until the next time.

She had gotten lucky for a few weeks, he seemed to be otherwise occupied and she fed like a one percent-er. It felt too easy now, without him breathing down her neck, but it was a streak she didn’t need broken. Unfortunately, it was cut short, by something else entirely.

It had been two months and three states since Dean had seen her. A growing inkling in the back of his mind had him thinking he had lost her trail. It wasn’t that she was sloppy or savage; he had just been out of the game. Michael had seen to his own exploits long enough and now freed; Dean needed the familiarity of the chase. She was his fall back girl and boy did he need that sliver of control; a monster on a leash.

He spotted her in the back of the seedy bar, already whispering into some poor slob’s ear. Dean sent a drink to each of them, with a twenty for the waitress who looked at Dean as if he was nuts for pushing his luck. He knew it wasn’t about luck. She slipped the straw between her lips and sucked back the Bloody Mary, all the while watching him. Her date slammed his shot before she could push him off of her, bones crunching when he insisted. Dean winked at the waitress as she passed, earning him a impressed chuckle.

She didn’t say anything, she simply set the empty glass beside his graveyard and walked outside. She slipped up onto the hood of his beloved car, engine long since cooled. Her tiny skirt bunched and twisted as the night air met her lifeless flesh. Dean spun his key ring between his thumb and forefinger, coat collar hitched against the cold upon joining her.

“You needta be invited?” Dean balked, breath streaming from his wide smile. Everything about him screamed danger, run, now, don’t stop.

“Don’t play dumb, you know the answer.” She leaned back, legs slipping open as she purred.

“You’re right. Get in.” Dean nodded in agreement, words coming back with a bite.

She felt tiny on the wide bench seat, yet they were close enough that she felt the warmth of his whiskey and the slight hitch in his heartbeat. Her hunter was excited, one way or another. He pulled into an abandoned lot, empty warehouses as far as the eye could see. No one around for blocks. No one to hear a scream or even a decapitation.

When he adjusted the rear view mirror, she stopped breathing. His eyes fell on their company, but he shook her off with his eyes, keeping up the charade. He pulled her into his lap, scruff gliding over her jaw as his hot breath assaulted her every sense. She tried not to show how scared she was, dragging her open mouth over the few patches of his exposed skin.

He groaned, shifting beneath her as he slid something into her hand. A calculated hum sounded in his throat as he licked down her chest, dipping lower until she was free to swing. The machete reflected the interior in a blurred rush of tan and black, steel and skin before it met its target. She struck the vamp, who had been pimping her for weeks, just below the ear with a satisfying thwack. But the blade didn’t clear, a menacing blue light shot from his eyes and she froze, half over the front seat.

Dean checked the side view and he knew they had underestimated their guest. He pulled her back down and rolled on top of her, the blade falling against the dash, clambering down until it lodged into the floor. Dean fumbled with the passenger side handle as the grace-charged vampire grabbed him and threw him into Baby’s ceiling. Luckily, she had slipped out just before he came crashing back down. He was going to have pound out the roof again, damnit.

She got a hundred yards away before turning back, her eyes locked onto his as he crawled out of the door she left open. He was bleeding, she could smell it and the wanting made her squirm with a filthy kind of guilt. She’d been used, drained and beaten for days on end. Yet wanting to drink him makes her feel lower than low, feral, evil.

He started to laugh. “Whew! I didn’t know big brother liked to watch. Sorry man, but I don’t go parkin’ for an audience.”

She shuffled forward, letting the hunter draw out her captor. Dean was hurting, but she also knew he was buying her time. Them time. The backdoor slammed open, hinges protesting against the force. Once the other vampire cleared the car, she made her way back to the driver’s seat.

“So, what, no comments from the peanut gallery?” Dean challenged the strangely silent adversary as he charged forward. Then Dean realized why: she had cut through his vocal cords. Even if Michael’s science project had wanted to banter; he couldn’t. Which only gave Dean less distractions to work with.

He dug in his coat for the syringes of dead man’s blood he always kept on him for these trysts of theirs. He never thought he would have to use them. He was grateful it wasn’t on her tonight. He clicked his teeth and finished unbuttoning his coat, he needed room to dance. He pulled out his gun, knowing the ammo would do little to stop this bastardized monster. His angel blade remained secure in the trunk and once again he kicked himself for losing his step.

The ang-pire, Dean decided, was painfully confident, grinning with his extra teeth as he walked into the spray of bullets Dean sent his way. Then came the hiss of laughter through splayed flesh, deepening as the grace flowed, mending their assailant layer by layer. Bullets retreated, falling in misshapen jangles onto the jagged blacktop.

“Bullets? Really? Michael would be so disappointed,” his voice croaked.

“Yeah, well-” Dean shrugged. “He can kiss my ass.”

She didn’t strike out this time, this time she swung for the fences. The blade severed every inch attaching his head to his shoulders. She had closed her eyes, and once she opened them she saw Dean was doubled over, back throbbing. She raced over to catch him before his injury could catch up.

“Honey, we need to talk about your choice in friends.” Dean gasped, letting her walk him back to the solidarity of the Impala. 

“No love lost there,” she sighed, glancing back to the stilled body, before handing him the weapon. He tucked it back in his jacket, still hunched against the pain. Suddenly Dean was off again, wincing but booking it around the back of the car.

“Fucker moved, need to put it down,” Dean warned, patting his pockets for the keys, which were still in the ignition.

“I got ‘em, Crutchy,” she reassured, ducking in from the passenger’s side. All she heard was Dean’s voice belt out a resounding, “No!” just before she felt the swift prick to her thigh. The poison flooded her system, thick and festering. Dean’s fists struck the trunk in frustration, drawing the monster back to standing.

“You know what? I don’t give a fuck what He says about you. For that, I am going to take my time with you, now that your little slut is out of the way,” the Ang-pire promised.

Dean ran, full out, every muscle and bone hollering from his neck to his thighs. He felt about sixty-five, hips and all. There were two more syringes left behind, but he needed to keep him guessing. Dean squared up and brandished the machete. Pieces of him were still stuck to the blade; Dean tried not to think about it.

The once vampire snarled at Dean, lowering his stance before he charged the hunter. Dean had physicality on his side, he feigned left and though he wasn’t moving as quickly as usual he still got his outside leg behind the monster. He elbowed the back of its reattached neck before hacking into his back. Dean staggered back from the swing, clearing his feet from reach. Dean slammed the blade into his spine at the neck, like following a pattern to cut. In the end it was a sloppy job, Dean kicked the head across the parking lot before heading back to where the syringes lay.

He didn’t look at her body, legs dangling from Sam’s spot. Monster or no, he knew he was at fault. He didn’t want to see what the poison did to those perfect thighs. He was going to miss getting the drop on her, his trained pet. No matter how many guys she duped, she hadn’t finished or turned any of them. She had basked in the gray, a Winchesters’ team color if there ever was one. He sighed as he bent down, scooping up the next step.

He didn’t even hear the gun cock.

*^*^*

Billie hummed as she finished the book, delicate fingers tracing the back cover before closing it. Michael was going to be an issue for more than just those Winchester boys after all. She stood from her seat and placed it back on the shelf before she pulled out the next possible fate.


End file.
